


The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)

by Feral_Female



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Danger, Gay Sex, M/M, Romance, scary stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Female/pseuds/Feral_Female
Summary: It’s so wonderful to be back and penning another solo tale for our favorite factotum. I so missed touching base with all the other amazing Janto fans out there! Okay, enough gushing, lets get to the synopsis shall we?Now that Ianto has finally confided his secrets – or one of the biggest ones anyway – to his mother the weight on his shoulders has lightened somewhat. He’s ready to leave the upset and sadness of the trip to Scotland and Martha’s disquieting news as far behind him as possible. To that end, he decides that putting himself out into the field more at work is a wonderful way to do that.  He’s also planning to step out of the closet in another way and try his hand at something he’s recently developed a passion for. Hopefully this new hobby and a potentially deadly assignment won’t snatch him away from his beloved captain.My posting schedule will be a weekly one with a new chapter every Wednesday.This tale – as all of mine do - takes place mainly before CoE although you might pick up some nods to things that occurred in the first three episodes of “Children of Earth”. There may also be a few small liberties taken from time to time with references to the show and its timelines.





	1. Baby, It's Warm Outside

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter One**

**Baby, It’s Warm Outside**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

“…she gave me this lethal look and said, ‘Not in this galaxy flyboy!’ then blasted me and Geirr into the cargo bay. Which is why to this day I never trust blondes with big agendas.”

“Mm, yes, cheese would be lovely,” I murmured, my pen flying across the page.

“Ianto?”

“No, thank you, I’ll just have my tea.”

“Ianto?”

I glanced up from my diary. Jack was standing beside the sofa, skin still damp from his shower, a white towel tied around his waist, staring at me as if I’d missed something of import. My eyes darted down to his bare chest which made it even harder to concentrate on what he’d been saying. The windows were wide open but the heat in the flat was close to unbearable. Our cool Welsh weather had been trampled by a nasty stretch of drought and searing temperatures that wilted even the starchiest collars.

“Have I been talking to myself for the past fifteen minutes?” I shook my head strongly and snapped my diary shut. “Okay, well then I reckon you can tell me what your favorite part of the rousing and highly swashbuckling story I just told you was.”

He arched an eyebrow as only Jack Harkness can arch an eyebrow.

“How unpleasant that princess from Gorrax Patterna you were a hair’s breadth from being forced to marry was?” I tossed out hopefully, knowing it was a ghastly reply but unable to pull myself out of the hole I’d fallen into.

With a heavy sigh he padded into the kitchen of my – our – the flat to turn on the kettle. _Well there you’ve done it._ If there was anything that was sure to hurt his feelings, it was not listening to his space stories. Jack was a sensitive man under all the bon mots, sexual innuendo, and enormous amounts of swagger.

“Fuck,” I muttered, stashed my diary under the sofa cushion, and joined him in staring at the flame dancing under the kettle. He shot me a look. I gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to your tale. I’m sure it’s one of your most swashbuckling and heroic ones to date.”

“There was so much heroism you’d have choked on it.” He turned to face me, blue eyes murky in this muted light. “You’ve had your nose buried in that diary more than usual of late. Anything I need to know about?”

“No, nope, nothing about you at all, or us, or work. It’s just…words.” I looked from him to the kettle which probably should be scoured soon.

“I figured that you were writing words in it. Either that or you’ve taken up doing pornographic etchings of our most intimate and erotic moments. Which is something I’d like to see now that I think on it.”

“What? Sketchings? God no. I’m rubbish at art.” I reached around him to turn the kettle off before it whistled. He grabbed my forearm, carrying my hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips to my wrist. “The water is about to boil.”

“Yeah, I know.” He licked the tender flesh over the thumping pulse point. “It’s too hot for tea.” My body responded as it always did to his touch. Want coursed through me, thickening my cock. “Let’s skip the Earl Gray and go to bed. I suddenly have this wild desire to see you spread naked on the bed with me buried inside you while I sketch what it looks like when we’re joined. I have a fair to middling skill with a pencil and paper.”

“Of course you do.” The finial of the tea pot began to wiggle ominously.

“So, you game?” He nipped at my wrist, his gaze as hot as the water breaking into a boil. “Dirty Pictionary? Want to give it a go?”

As if I could ever turn the man down.

Which was how twenty minutes later I was grasping the headboard, gasping for breath while teetering on the edge of orgasm while Jack sketched and sweat. Knees under me and my elbows on the mattress, he rolled his hips, pulling a moan from me.

“Drawing us like this is incredibly sexy it just takes too damn long.” The sketchpad lay on my lower back.

“That’s why… they invented… the bloody camera. I can’t wait much longer. Ah, hell yes, you need to be deeper now, Jack.”

He tossed the pad and pencil aside then began to pump, one hand on the nape of my neck, one hand to my back, pressing me into the bedding he thrust in earnest. I came in my hand a mere stroke later, my cries hidden by the pillows he’d piled under me when the artsy game had started.

“Yeah, just ride that out, Ianto. Shit.” He fell forward, going deeper yet on the final stroke. “No, do not move. Stay…yes, ah yes.” He pushed harder on my lower back, pinning me in place. My belly and the blanket were now soaked with spunk. Eyes closed, I enjoyed the shudders rolling through him. It was heady to know that my body, my love, could make Jack so powerless even if just for a few moments.

“Oh hell,” I grunted as a small tremor rocked me. He fell onto my back, his beefy body slick with sweat, his chest sticking to mine instantly. “Ugh, this heat. You’re too hot.”

“That’s what they all said,” he chuckled, his voice thick with lust yet. With a kiss to my shoulder he pulled out then fell to bed beside me. “Ugh,” he said into the wadded-up bottom sheet.

“Exactly.” I rolled to my back, eager for some of the steamy air the oscillating fan was blowing around. Cooling semen was not enjoyable, be it on your front or back, so I left the bed and went to wash up. When I returned, Jack had taken care of the mess I’d made on the bed with a new coverlet, and was reclining against the headboard, his sketchpad in hand, naked and still flushed from sex. His hair was even rumpled yet, which made him even more rakish. “I brought you a wash cloth.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, nearly blinding me with the flash of white teeth, and then swapped the soapy cloth for the sketch pad. “I think I captured the ‘No one does me like Jack Harkness does me’ look you wear so well.”

“This looks like something that came through the Rift last week,” I commented as I perused the sketch.

“Turn it over.”

“Ah.” To his credit, he _had_ captured our male forms well. The graphic details were a bit over the top. “Make sure this is hidden somewhere my mother won’t fumble upon it when she stops over to meet Enid and have tea next week.”

He snickered like a deviant. “She’d swoon. Now Enid on the other hand…”

“I’d rather neither of the old girls get their hands on it.” Not that Enid could see it, of course. I studied his rendering of his prick closely. “Embellished a bit on the girth here, didn’t you?” I turned the sketch pad and tapped on the massive cock penciled on it.

He glanced down at his flaccid prick and then looked at me. “You tell me when you sit down.”

“Swaggering arse,” I mumbled then hid the dirty picture book under the bed and laid down on top of the sheets. “I never thought I’ d say this, but the dank, musty, moldy wetness of the Hub would feel amazing right now.” I rolled my head to the left and caught his eye. “We could go sleep there.”

“My hole isn’t big enough,” he said around a yawn.

“Maybe you should let me top a bit more often,” I tossed out then rolled to my side and got a playful slap on the rump.

“I meant my little sleeping hole in the floor.”

“Of course you did.”

“Such a snarky tea boy.” He turned off the light then draped a thick arm over my hip and cinched me close. I was going to complain about the heat and his proximity to me when he whispered something beside my ear. “I love snarky tea boys.”

Perhaps the heat wasn't _that_ bad after at all.

 

 

To be continued…


	2. Rock Smashes Scissors

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Two**

**Rock Smashes Scissors**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

 

The following morning rain was finally falling on Mermaid Quay. Sadly, the precipitation was only supposed to be a brief respite to the ungodly heat. I enjoyed sitting in one of the many shops looking out over the bay before work at times. The squall of seagulls mixing with the steady drum of a summer downpour was relaxing. I stopped at this little bakery regularly, to pick up a box of Welsh cakes for work. Well, mainly for Jack as he had a weakness for sweet Welsh things, myself being at the top of that list, or so he liked to tell me.

The tour boats were rocking silently by their docks, the carousel was quiet. It was quite peaceful, and the perfect spot to do a bit more writing. Giving the outdoor café a quick look to ensure none of my coworkers were nearby, I took a sip of passable coffee, looked around one final time, and then pulled my diary out of the slim leather case I’d taken to carrying to the Hub. Mostly it was work related faff inside. Papers and forms that I’d sort today and have Jack sign, lists that detailed the vast bits and bobs in our archives, some gum, a bottle of hand sanitizer because one never knew what one would be touching when one worked for Torchwood, and tucked discreetly away in a side pocket a string of lubricant packets because one never knew…

The rain slowed to a drizzle as I wrote, more a heavy mist than anything now. The thick air settled on my face, dampening my cheeks. I breathed the smells of the bay and my coffee in. Water dripped off the roof that shielded patrons from the sun and rain, the steady runoff now a few slow drips. I glanced over my shoulder one final time, and then reread the two pages of fresh work for my novel as I pondered how to phrase something. Well, what would _be_ a novel. Someday. Perhaps. Finding time to write with work, Jack, and family was difficult. Which was why I snuck it in when I could. I’d have to stop doing so at home though, at least when Jack was awake. I wasn’t ready for anyone to see my work, or even know about it.

They’d laugh out loud, or maybe even worse, be polite to my face and then turn around and titter with each other, especially Gwen. There was no way I was giving her any additional ammunition to use against—

“Damn,” I inhaled through my nose and let the bitterness go on the exhalation. “Right, back to being a wordsmith.”

I jotted down a few hundred words more in longhand, which I found to be a rewarding way to write instead of on a laptop. Perhaps because I spent so much time tapping away at computers at work, or simply because I enjoyed the scratch of pen to paper. Whatever the reason, I’d taken to this manner of writing and it suited nicely. Someday I’d have to transcribe it to a Word document, but that was far in the future.

“Like another refill, Ianto?”

I glanced up from my diary/book and smiled at Iuean, the young man who waited the tables in the morning.

“Just a topper thanks.”

He refilled my cup neatly, no spills or dribbles. “How goes it over at the tourist center? Must be boring as hell sitting around in that dusty old place all day.”

“Mm, yes, quite boring.” A gull swooped low and landed on the railing. Iuean waved the hot coffee pot at the bird and it took to wing.

“Bloody things are nothing but rats on wings. Wish the fucking tourists would stop feeding them all the time,” he huffed then returned to our conversation, the damp wind blowing his brown hair into his long face. “Course this whole bay is a void. Nothing much ever happens around here.”

“Cardiff is a bore,” I sighed as if my life were one lackluster and monotonous existence. “Anything new?”

His gray eyes flickered to the pin board by the front door of the café. It was a community type board and had proven to be helpful on a few occasions. You’d be amazed how a spate of cats or dogs coming up missing has led us to discover some rogue alien snacking on pets.

“Not much that I recall but I can go check.”

“No, that’s fine.”

He gave me a nod then went off to tend to the other patrons. Knowing time was short, I slipped my journal back into my bag and did a fast search of internet chatrooms and paranormal blogs that dealt with Southern Wales. I sifted through a few dozen places, looking for anything out of the ordinary like the giant beetle that now lay on Owen’s autopsy table.

Yours truly had discovered that nasty bit of alien invader whilst reading through a Cardiff U. student chat room. Seemed some drunken student had taken a shaky video of the creature racing across Roath Park and shared it with his friends. Torchwood had been on the scene within thirty minutes and all traces of the alien and its existence had been eradicated, sadly not in time to save Stewart Bodley, aged 42, a rather dead Royal Mail employee. Tosh had worked her magic to cover-up that death, but the loss of any civilian sat heavily on all of us.

Seeing nothing that looked intriguing, I did a fast check for any new writers groups in the area. A trickle of excitement coursed through me. Finding a writer’s group in Cardiff would be a boon. I found one right off but was put out to see that the group was out in Chepstow. The Friday evening meet-and-greet might be troublesome but the lure of sitting down with other science fiction writers was overwhelming.

 I pulled out my phone and added the date and location of the first meeting into my notes, tossed some cash on the table for my coffee and cakes, and then set off for work, mind working to come up with a good reason to sneak off to Chepstow on Friday nights.

As soon as I slipped past the giant cog door, I made my way to Jack’s office, to ply him with Welsh sweets. Owen gave me a perfunctory grunt as I passed his work station, his dark hair slowly growing back leaving him looking like he’d clipped it down to the wood as my father used to say.

“What you got there?” the medic asked, his gaze falling to the box in my hands.

“Welsh cakes. Would you like one?” I hoped he would say no. The more treats I gave Jack the better my odds of taking Friday off. He’d want a reason why, of course, and I’d come up with nothing. Lying to Jack bothered me. I’d done that once before with Lisa and while a writer’s group wasn’t on the same level as a Cyberwoman in the basement, I’d vowed not to hide things from him again.

I just needed a little more time to bolster my confidence in myself and my new creative endeavors.

“No, thanks. Got no time for treats. I’m plotting a long weekend in London with an old girlfriend who rang me up the other day.” He gave me a randy wink. I was a little taken aback. He’d not shown interest in a woman since Diane had flown off into the unknown. What with the heartbreak then the white pestilence the poor man hadn’t been in the mood to date. I was glad to hear he was putting himself back out—

“Long weekend?”

“Yeah, why?” His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you thinking of asking off?”

I tucked the box of cakes under my arm and bolted. Tie flapping I heard Owen cursing me then the sound of his chair flying into his desk. I skidded into Jack’s office a mere second before Owen and tossed the box of cakes to Jack. Our doctor arrived on my heels.

“I need Friday off,” we both blurted out simultaneously.

 “I’ll rock, paper, scissor you for it,” Owen added with a look at me.

Jack hung up the phone then lifted the box of cakes from his desk. “Did _you_ bring me sweets?”

“No, I didn’t bring you bloody sweets,” Owen replied. I smugly folded my arms over my suit jacket. Owen gave me a glower. “I’ve got a half-eaten Lion Bar in my desk.”

“Hmm, two handsome men who want a favor from me.” Jack tossed his boots to his desk and stroked his chin. “I wonder what it says in the Torchwood bosses handbook about this type of situation…”

“Hey guys!” Tosh shouted just as I was about to make a comment about harassment. “We’ve got an activity surge taking place. Rather big spark in Monmouthshire.”

Jack’s boots left his desk. He was on his feet and headed to Tosh’s work area in a flash, Welsh cakes momentarily forgotten.

“This is the fourth spark out there in as many days,” Jack stated, standing behind Toshiko, hands in his front pockets. “Maybe we should send someone out there to check things out. Are we getting any reports of odd or unusual sightings?”

“Nothing much,” Tosh replied as police reports flashed up on her main screen. “The usual ghostly apparitions around Chepstow Castle and the Witch of the Old Wye Bridge. Course those sightings are generally drunks.” She looked back at us and gave us a warm smile. Clearly this was a woman in love. It looked marvelous on her.

“I’ll take it,” I stated before anyone could reply. Jack gave me his standard quirked eyebrow. “I love old castles and poking about in our country’s history. I can nose around for a few days, take some readings if Tosh will let me borrow a gadget or two, and be back late Friday night.”

“You sure you want to be gone so long?” Jack asked as Owen fumed behind me. I translated Jack’s query into meaning ‘Are you sure you want to be gone from _me_ so long?’ which made me wish I could kiss him on the mouth.

“It’s only four days. I’m sure no one will even miss me,” I replied.

“I will,” Jack murmured and then wiped the lover from his face and replaced it with the boss. “Fine, Ianto, head out to Chepstow and do some discreet investigating. Owen, you’re here with us until Ianto comes back.” Owen started to object. Jack held up a finger. “I can’t let you go when there’s only four of us. Until Gwen comes back we’re short-staffed. Now, you can go take out your frustration on that dead beetle that ate a postal worker.”

“Fine, but you’re not getting my Lion Bar,” Owen said then stomped off to the autopsy room.

“Now, about Chepstow…” Jack began.

“Get off that beetle you ugly little bastard!” Owen bellowed.

“Grubby not ugly. Grubby pretty lad.” Wailing began. I rolled my eyes. Jack jerked his chin in the direction of the autopsy room. When I got there the beetle who had feasted on Stewart Bodley was lying in a bubbling pool of what I assumed were squonk tears.

Typical Monday.

 

To be continued…

 


	3. What the Astronaut Said

 

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Three**

**What the Astronaut Said**

 

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Knowing my time was short, I’d hurried home to pack a valise. I’d not put it past Owen to sneak off while I was home stuffing socks into my travel bag, leaving me high and dry. My relief was palpable when I returned to the Hub and saw Owen pulling internal organs out of a giant alien beetle. Our gazes met.

“Next weekend is mine,” he called from the autopsy pit. “Don’t be dreaming up some romantic getaway for you and him to run off to. You have any idea how long its been since I had a good shag?”

“Not a clue.”

“Too bloody long, that’s how long! I had a sure thing lined-up with Bunny,” he said then tossed what looked like a blue liver into a pan. “Yes, her name is Bunny. And yes she breeds like one.”

“Far too much information!” Tosh yelled from her work station. I tended to agree.

“Just make sure your arse stays home for the next month,” the medic warned, waving yellowish-green entrails at me for emphasis.

“I’ll do that,” I murmured then hustled into Jack’s office. He snapped awake when I cleared my throat. “Thought I’d stop by before I took off and tell you I was leaving.”

“Right.” He pushed to his feet and walked around his desk, pawing in his front left pocket. “Chepstow, Rift surges, boyfriend acting strangely. It’s all coming back to me.”

“I’m not acting strangely,” I quickly countered. He stopped a foot away from me, his blue eyes searching my face. “I merely wish to accrue more field time. You’ve not taken me out for training yet and I thought that—”

“Training, yes, we’ll do that next weekend.”

“No, not next weekend. Owen will skin me.”

Jack bobbed his head, his stare quite intense. “If there were something wrong with us you’d tell me, yes?”

“Yes, of course.” I shifted my bag to my left hand. “Jack, there’s nothing wrong. I simply want to get more field duty. Now, I have to go pick up my rental car.”

He continued to assess me for a long, long moment. “Take the Austin Healey.” He pulled out his key fob – the old brass circular one that was something important he’d had fashioned into a fob but refused to explain what or why – and dangled the keys in front of me.

“Are you sure?” I asked, eying those keys with lust. He rarely let me – or anyone - drive anything.

“I’m sure. I’ll use the SUV.” I held out my hand and the keys dropped into my palm. “I have one condition. You _and_ the car return to me without any dings or dents.”

“I’ll do my best to bring her and myself back dent free.”

“Make sure you don’t lose it.”

“Once. I did that once. Thank you for the car.”

He laid a big hand to the back of my neck and pulled me close for a kiss. It was a nice one, long and wet, tongues tangling. Him pulling back ended things before I was ready.

“You’re welcome. Keep your phone on at all times, do not engage anything bigger than a lorry by yourself, make sure you bring Tosh’s toys back in one piece, and come back to me unharmed.” His hand left my neck and skimmed up and over my head, his fingertips gently moving over the bumpy scar from the stitches the bashing had left me with. “Make sure you’re always aware of your surroundings. Use that eidetic memory of yours to catalog everything and everyone like we’ve been working on. If you think anything feels off—”

“I’ll ring. Honestly, I’ll be fine. It’s four days in Chepstow. I doubt anything dangerous will happen other than I’ll eat too much pub food and end up in gastric distress.”

“Mm-hmm. Well, call if you need me – us. Need us.”

I stole one more kiss and then left. If I dallied about kissing Jack I’d never get on the road. I visited with Tosh, taking a small little gizmo that picked up Rift energy and could read alien vital life signs but was streamlined and no bigger than a standard cell phone. The only thing that distinguished it from being a normal phone was the Torchwood emblem and that it pulsed blue much like the lights along the windscreen of the Range Rover.

Jack’s baby sat next to the Torchwood SUV in the secret parking area under the bay. I ran a hand down her sleek ebony fender, then caressed the new cloth convertible roof. We were of a similar height, Jack and I, so no adjustments had to be made to the driver’s seat. I did pop out one of his CD’s, the latest one I’d bought him, and slid in one of my own discs. The engine rolled over with a roar. Knowing that he was probably watching me on the CCTV, I eased her out of her spot, and crept out of sight of Jack’s paternal sight. Once I was out of Cardiff, I opened her up a bit, shifting smoothly, the audio book I’d chosen filling me in on important facts about Chepstow Castle that I may have forgotten. Research is creating new knowledge according to Neil Armstrong, and I firmly seconded that notion. One could never do enough research.

The forty-five-minute drive was quite enjoyable. The wind tugged at my hair and the sun warmed my scalp. No wonder Jack loved this convertible so much.

My first stop once entering Chepstow was to locate my hotel. It was a small old pub that sat within view of the castle ramparts. The Four Lads Inn was rustic but homey, and my room was quite lush. A large bed with dark cherry head and footboards. Fluffy white and peach bedding and drapes, and a large window that looked down on the narrow street. I unpacked my clothes, jeans and casual tops for this trip, and went down to have a pint and perhaps talk up the barmaid. In my experience, barkeeps were usually a wealth of local information.

Also, this one was a lovely young black woman with an enticing smile which made chatting her up rather enjoyable. Her name was Dotty and enticing smile aside, she had nothing much of import to pass along, although she did pour a good draft. The chicken and leek pie I had for lunch was delicious, and I made sure to tell her so. She flashed me a smile that at another time would have kept my backside on the bar stool. But now there was Jack and he filled my heart completely.

After my lunch, I chose to tour Chepstow Castle. I’d been here several times in the past and never tired of spending an afternoon immersed in Welsh history. Also, it gave me a chance to walk about with my “phone” and pick up any residual Rift readings. There were a few, one particularly strong pulse lingering in the great hall. Tourists meandered around as I pretended to take pictures. The old stones had seen a great many changes since they’d first been laid in 1067, and if they could speak I wondered what they would say. I reached out to touch the weather-worn rock wondering what FitzOsbern would think of modern Welshmen and women. Would he and the Marcher Lords be impressed or disgusted?

After taking some readings from the gift shop clear all the way to Marten’s Tower, I found a spot in the shade and pulled out my diary. The urge to write was strong, and so I spent several hours among the American tourists jotting down more of my time-travelling space adventure. Back to the rough stone wall, knees bent, pen flying, I filled several pages before I was asked to leave. I made a quick stop at the gift shop and bought Jack a handsome scarf before I ambled back to the hotel for another pint and a pie.

_You’ll have to walk back to Cardiff to burn off all of this heavy food._

 That was true, but I did love a good pie.

Dotty was off-duty and now sat beside me, her smiled a little brighter than earlier. The not-so subtle brush of her breast against my arm told me it was time to go back to my room. Alone. There I’d wait until night fell and using a small power booster on my phone, would jack up the Rift energy detector to see if anything exciting appeared at the castle. I had my doubts, but we couldn’t be chasing Weevils and battling Slitheen all the time. Sometimes we had to sit around in hotel rooms and watch “Gavin and Stacey” while we digested.

I toed off my sneakers and crawled into the bed, smiling at the firm mattress. Jack would enjoy that if he were here. Thinking of him made me yearn for the man so I called but was sent to voice mail. Propped up on thick pillows that smelled like citrus my full belly making me lazy, I turned on the TV and dozed off.

The shrill screech of the Rift detector jarred me from my nap. I hurried to the window where the device sat on the sill attached to my phone. A brilliant red blip appeared on the screen. Whatever had arrived had some major Rift energy flowing off it. Could it be a ghostly knight or wistful lady fair? Whatever it was it was on the move. It wasn’t even at the castle. Not anymore. It was downriver right where the Wye Bridge sat.

I glanced at my watch. Nigh into midnight. That had been quite the lengthy nap.

 “So, the witching hour is here,” I mumbled, grabbed my phone and my gun, and raced out of the hotel to investigate.

 

To Be Continued…


	4. Mood Music Provided by Simon & Garfunkel

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Four**

**Mood Music Provided by Simon & Garfunkel**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

The moon met me outside, glowing big and white, it illuminated Bridge Street well until it slunk behind a cloud. Tucking my gun in the waistband of my jeans, I looked at the sleek little ’63 Aston Martin parked in the pub’s lot. It was just a short run to the Wye Bridge, and God knows I needed to burn off the pies I’d ingested, so I ran, Rift indicator “phone” beeping steadily. I was so intent on the readout that I never saw the row of bins beside a gated driveway. A cat leaped out from among the tall green bins, a mouse in its mouth. I yelped in fright, my heart leaping into my throat. My arm came up instinctively to ward off the blow that, of course, never came.

“Holy hell,” I panted, cursing myself and my skittish response. That was _not_ how a Torchwood agent responded to a fucking cat in a dark driveway. “Christ,” I snarled, anger pushing me onward while I shoved that cowardly reaction down. One lump on the head and now I jumped at every little noise? No. Just no.  That bashing was not going to weaken me. That would be letting the homophobes win.

The smells of the river met me as I rounded the corner and caught sight of the bridge. I slowed my pace, shoved the Rift phone into the front pocket of my jeans, and pulled out my trusty M1911. I could follow the tones by ear. I wanted my gun out. Traffic was quite light so late, which was a blessing. If there was something otherworldly here, and the steady beeping told me that there was, the fewer civilians that spotted it the better. I did have some Retcon in my bag but disliked dispensing it. Better to avoid alien-human interactions if possible.

Stepping out onto the bridge, all I could think of was that old sixties tune by Simon and Garfunkel about the 59th Street Bridge. I highly doubted this bridge resembled that New York one. Also, everything was not, nor was I feeling groovy in any way. With that old ditty spinning on a loop inside my skull, I crept along the walkway on the left side, eyes darting this way and that. The river was low but the steady sounds of the lapping water along with the song of frogs and insects filled the humid air.

Reaching the midway point, I paused and scanned the area. To the left, upriver, sat Chepstow Castle, the moon painting it milky white right before a cloud threw it into darkness. I turned and looked downstream, one or two steps away from crossing from Wales into Britain. The bridge was nicely lit, and I saw nothing out of sorts which confounded me a bit as the damn Rift indicator was telling me I was standing _on_ something full of Rift energy, yet, the only thing under my Nikes was bridge. My phone vibrated in my back pocket. Leaning against the rail I took the call after hearing Jack’s ringtone, and slowly placed the phone to my ear.

“Hey there,” Jack said cheerfully. “I was out tracking Madame Sour Breath and lost track of time. Soon as I checked my phone I called back.”

“Not sure why you insist on calling that Weevil ‘Madame’,” I replied with a smile.

“She wore a feather boa.”

“You’re the only one to have _ever_ seen her in a boa. I still maintain that you were drunk.”

“I don’t drink. Much. So, anything exciting in Chepstow?”

I tossed another look up and down the bridge. “Well, I thought so but there’s nothing in sight even though Tosh’s new Rift Ringer is telling me otherwise.”

“Rift Ringer?”

“Mm, yes, I think that sounds like a good name, don’t you?”

“I do,” he chortled. “That’s unusual. Are you sure you’ve taken in everything there is to take in?”

“Yes,” I turned and rested my forearms on the railing. “Unless our alien is hiding under the bridge like a troll…”

A long silence overtook us. “Ianto, is there any way you can look _under_ the bridge?”

I opened my mouth to reply and the beeping in my pocket died. “Hold on.” I took out the sleek black phone and studied it. The blue lights were still pulsating along the side and the small readout screen was showing me a steady red ping, but the sound had died out. “I think it’s the device. Tosh may need to tinker with it more.”

I shoved it back into my pocket and gazed at the moonlit castle.

“Well, don’t rely solely on fancy gizmos. They’re cool and fun but there’s nothing that can replace keen observatory skills, a second sense that’s been honed, and a loaded Webley on your hip.”

“You sound like Han Solo,” I chuckled. Jack laughed a bit as well. “I’ll head back to the hotel and contact Tosh in the morning to see if she has any suggestions about her new toy.”

“Okay, I’m going to crawl into bed and see if I can grab an hour or two. Love you. Be careful.”

“Love you too. Talk to you tomorrow.”

I ended the call, smiling wistfully as I stared at the phone resting in my palm before I pocketed it. Nothing like a call from the man you loved before bed to put you in a good—

A scream that raised the hairs on the back of my neck shattered the calm night. Something hit me in the middle of my back with incredible force. I made a grab for the railing, but the momentum of the impact sent me and my attacker flying over the rail. I twisted around and grabbed an arm before we hit the Wye with a slap that nearly knocked me out. We sunk quickly but I wasn’t concerned. I _did_ have ducal slug DNA after all. Hell, I could stand on the bottom of the Wye and simply hold onto my attacker until they had to surface or drowned.

There was no seeing who or what I was clinging to in the dark, muddy water but whatever it was it was angry, and it was strong. It punched and gouged and kicked violently. I snickered and breathed deeply. My lungs filled with water and panic raced through me as no dissolved oxygen was absorbed from the water. It was difficult to describe the conversion that took place, or used to, but whatever kind of change had taken place in my capillaries after that infusion of slug coding now seemed to be null and void.

Spinning and flailing, I managed to break free of my attacker and pushed toward the surface. It grabbed an ankle and jerked me back down before I could get any air. I kicked at its head, or where I assumed the head would be, and felt my foot connect with something. Its face hopefully. The hold on my foot slackened and I swam upward, breaking the surface with a loud gasp and a splash.

I sucked in a huge lungful of air then coughed up muddy river all the way to the shore. I managed to get my upper half out of the river then collapsed to the bank, gagging up dirty water, my mind spinning like tires on ice. Something exploded out of the river with an ear-splitting shriek. I scrambled further up the bank, hacking and lightheaded, to see a blur that scrabbled along the bridge like a massive spider before disappearing from view.

I fell back to the bank, panting like a workhorse, water soaked and beyond confused about what was taking place inside me. I’d need to call Martha Jones in the morning for a talk. Perhaps she had some news. It was unsettling to say the least.

I coughed up a bit more water as I slowly sat up and checked my pockets. Gun was still in place but soaking wet. Cell phone was still with me, but the Rift Ringer was gone.

Tosh would not be pleased.

 

To be continued…


	5. Conversing with the Fishes

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Five**

**Conversing with the Fishes**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

“Ianto, that was a prototype!”

I stared at the small screen of my tablet as Tosh, with Jack standing behind her, arms folded over his chest, sexy forearms bared, vented. She had every right.

“I know, and I’m terribly sorry. It must have slipped out of my pocket when whatever it was and I wrestled about.” I paced my hotel room, feeling dreadful.

“But you’re okay?” Jack interjected, his eyebrows riding low on his brow.

“Yes, yes, fine.”

“And was the Rift Ringer the only thing you lost?” Jack pointedly enquired. I glanced out my hotel window to triple-check that the Aston Martin was still parked in the cramped hotel lot.

“Yes.” A man loses a car _one_ time…

“Did you check along the riverbank?” Tosh asked as I pawed through my clean shirts laid out tidily in the drawers. I paused and glanced back at the tablet.

“No, why would I do that? Surely it’s sunk to the bottom and is lodged under a rock somewhere.”

“I built it to be waterproof, like all of our phones, since we’re out in the rain nine days out of ten it seems,” Tosh replied.

“Not this month,” Jack tossed out. I lifted my old Stereophonics t-shirt from the dresser then bumped the drawer shut with my hip.

Tosh nodded then picked right back up. “Be that as it may, it should float and given that the current of the Wye is—”

“Alright, I’ll check along the banks.” I padded back to the tablet which was resting on a carefully plumped pillow. My gaze met Jack’s. He gave me a saucy wink. I smiled softly then pulled the cotton t-shirt over my head.

“When you find it,” Tosh slid into the ogling, her glasses low on her tiny nose, “make sure you go back into its data banks to check for surges in the earth’s localized time fields as well as recent movements through the Rift. I’ve run over our readouts here and the burp in Chepstow last night was consistent with the other spikes we’ve been getting from that area. Once you have those readings I can double check them and collate the Chepstow spikes to see if the chronon discharge levels are the same or rising.”

“Right,” I said while Jack continued to study me, the playful twist to his eyebrow now gone. I knew that look. That was his ‘I’m considering yanking my boyfriend out of harms way’ look. “I’m going to grab a bite and head down to the river. Nothing like a nice dip on a hot day.” I smiled widely. Tosh nodded. Jack continued to stare. “I’ll let you know if I find it.”

“Ianto, if you find yourself in a situation…” Jack began then deftly changed course, “remember what I’ve taught you so far. Talk to you tonight.”

“I’ll do my best, Sir.” That got me a dancing eyebrow from the boss. Tosh cut the call and I hustled around to gather my things and head down to the pub for lunch. I’d slept through breakfast and had tried to call Martha, but she had been in a meeting.

“Hello cuteness,” Dotty said, her smile dazzling. I hoisted myself up onto a stool and returned her smile. “Coffee or a draft?”

“Coffee, please. And something for lunch, but no pies. I’m swimming after I’m done here, and I need something light.”

“Well, the day’s menu is up there on the board, that’s lunch fare though. Bet we can whip up some eggs and beans for you.” She placed a brown mug in front of me then filled it.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“How do you want the eggs?”

“Poached, please.” I sipped my coffee while Dotty jogged back to the kitchen. There were several patrons here, one gent with his small gray dog was seated by the front window with a plate of bangers and mash, sneaking the dog bits of sausage. The others here were workers or tourists, American accents did stand out. The coffee was good, strong, lacking any fine subtle flavoring but overall tasty enough.

“You’re all set,” Dotty called as she shimmied back behind the bar. “So, you’re going for a swim are you? That’ll feel damn good on a day like this.”

“Yes, it’s projected to be another hot one,” I replied into my mug. “Actually, I’m just walking the riverbank for starters. I accidentally dropped something over the side of the bridge last night and I’m hoping to find it.”

“Did you now?” She leaned up and onto the bar, her breasts resting fully on her folded forearms. They were rather nice breasts, large and round, and they were close to tumbling out of her pink summer blouse. “What did you lose?”

“My phone.”

“Ah, well I’m sure that’s long gone. Maybe the witch got it,” she snickered.

I lowered my mug from my lips. “Have you ever seen her? Or any of the ghosts that rattle around the castle?”

“No, sadly.” Someone called her name. She ignored the summons. “Wish I had. I’m fascinated by occult happenings.”

“Do tell.” Dotty was eager to fill me in on her and her friend’s love of all things supernatural, including Sam and Dean. Not that I could fault anyone for lusting after the Winchester lads. She rambled on and on about seances and the Wye witch, about gatherings and Ouija boards, only stopping in her ramble long enough to fetch my food and glare at the other patrons.

“If you’ve a mind, you could join us tonight. I get off at five. I could take you to my flat and we could try to stir up some ghosties.” She ran a finger along my forearm.

“Ah, well, thank you, but I’m going to be busy tonight. Perhaps tomorrow evening?”

“Dotty! Fuck sake, can I have some bloody coffee?!” Dog Man bellowed.

“Sod off, Irving, I’m talking to the sweetmeat!” She shouted back. My cheeks grew hot. “Let me tend to him before he blows a fucking cork.”

Luckily she got bogged down with lunch customers and I snuck off after gulping down my food and coffee.

The walk to the river was enjoyable enough, and I soon found myself along the muddy shore. I sat down to remove my sneakers and socks and rolled up my jeans then walked down to the water. The drought had bared the banks, leaving large limbs and driftwood lying about. The mud had a rank smell but was cool between my toes. The sun overhead was brutally hot. I made my way under the bridge, checking every inch of river bank, sun stinging the back of my neck. The shade felt wonderful and I lingered, calf deep in tepid water, wishing I had found the damn Rift Ringer by sight.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took the call from Martha immediately, dropping down to sit on a log that was slick and soft from years in the river.

“Ianto, I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get back to you. This day has been chaotic.”

“Please, no apologies needed. I rang you out of the blue,” I quickly replied, wading out a bit further so that the water tickled my kneecaps. “I hate to be a nag…”

“You’re not a nag. You’re concerned about your health.” She was such a sweet woman. Was it wrong to have fantasies of her replacing Gwen? Probably so but a man can dream. “Is there something new or disconcerting you wish to tell me?”

I relayed the newest wrinkle in the ongoing Ianto Jones genetic mystery.

“Well now, that’s interesting,” Martha murmured. Something small brushed against my ankle, a fish of some sort no doubt. “Can we bother you for a new genetic sample? This way we can compare your codes and see how and what has shifted.”

“Yes, of course. I’m doing some field work in Chepstow but can be available on Saturday?”

I wiggled my toes in the soft mud. Standing here in the shade, water up to my knees made me feel like a young boy again. If only I had a fishing pole and a can of worms…

“Wonderful. I’ll see you early Saturday. Try to keep your head above water,” she joked then ended the call. Sighing, I put my phone away and tried my best to shove the concerns to the side and focus on work. Fish, fowl, alien, human, or something betwixt, I was here on Torchwood business and for now that had to take precedence.

“Have you seen a highly technological looking phone with the Torchwood logo float past?” I asked a trout swimming by and got nothing of use from him in reply.

 

 

To be continued…


	6. Words To Live By

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Six**

**Words to Live By**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Eying the river, I argued with myself about wading out and seeing if last night had been a fluke. I would have if not for the traffic over my head on the bridge and the necessity to strip down to my underwear to take that dip. Perhaps tonight when it was dark, and the locals were all tucked into their beds. Hopefully there wouldn’t be an evil alien harridan trying to drown me.

I spent an hour or two meandering up and down the river bank and was about to give up as the back of my neck was getting sunburnt, when I spotted something bobbing about in a small pool on the other side of the river.

“Figures.”

I emptied my pockets and tugged off my Stereophonics t-shirt, laying my possessions on a flat rock, and waded out. Even with the drought and lower than normal water, the river was deep and powerful. Thankfully, I was a strong swimmer and made it to the other shore with ease. I waded out into the small eddy which had been formed from debris from a previous flood. Sure enough, there floated the Rift Ringer in a frothy whirlpool. Tucking Tosh’s prototype safely into my front pocket, I then swam back across. I had a moment when I thought to just sink and see what would happen but thought better of it. What if a fisherman was nearby? Or a family walking along the bridge? Best to leave that for another time, maybe with someone nearby in case my lungs decided to morph into useless globs. Not that my being in water or out of it would make a difference if my lungs turned to globs.

Leaving the water, dripping wet and underwear clinging uncomfortably to my balls, I yanked my shirt over my head, slid my feet into my sneakers, gathered up my goodies, and scaled back up the bank. I got more than a few odd looks as I strolled through town, but I kept my head down and mumbled in reply to any queries in my best American accent. Locals would allow that Americans would do any sort of silly thing like tumbling into the Wye.

Luck being on my side, I managed to sneak past the bar and up the stairs to the second floor without being spotted by Dotty. I took a quick shower to wash the mud from between my toes, changed into a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt, and flopped down in front of the window, hair damp yet, and placed the Rift Ringer on the foot of the bed on a clean towel. A strong wind blew in the narrow window, hot humid air tickling the fine hairs on my arm. I sat down on the bed and called Tosh. She was overjoyed to see that her device had been found and seemed to be in working order.

Jack and Owen were out investigating a small burble of Rift energy by the Queen’s Arcade Shopping Mall. Gwen was still on her week holiday, checking out potential honeymoon destinations in Scotland. They had one month now until the wedding and I for one was eager to see her married. Perhaps then she’d stop mooning over Jack and I could stop being an arse about it.

Shaking off the insecurity, I began sending Tosh the information the Rift Ringer had picked up via a linkup between my tablet and the Rift Reader while plotting out the rest of my day. A return trip to the Old Wye Bridge tonight was a given. I’d be better prepared though.

“Wow, this is an incredible power surge you registered last night,” Tosh murmured, breaking into my slightly drowsy state. The heat and the dip in the river had left me wanting to rest for a bit. Perhaps I should grab a short nap if I planned to be out late. “It’s odd though.”

“Oh, odd how?” I asked, yawning widely as I met Tosh’s confused look.

“Well, these Rift signatures aren’t leaving behind the usual chronon discharge readings that we’re used to.” She pushed her glassed up her nose and pursed her lips. I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands. “They’re more like…well, I’m not sure, but they’re not pure Rift energy. Something is mingling with the Rift readouts. This is fascinating.”

“Do you know what’s causing the irregularities?”

“Not yet, but I’ll get started on trying to analyze them.”

I covered a yawn and tried not to nod off. “Right then, well, touch me when you get the results.”

“I’m sorry but I think Jack would get upset if I touched you,” she giggled.

“What? Oh hell, sorry,” I coughed awkwardly. “ _Get_ in touch with me I meant to say.”

“I know, I just like to tease you. Your cheeks get so pink and rosy.”

Yes, I could feel the warmth in my face as we spoke. “Good to have a blusher in the mix.” She laughed out loud and I smiled at the sound. “Right then, I’m going to stretch out and nap then head out after dark to lurk in the dark. If you see Jack…”

“Tell him that you love him?”

“ _I’ll_ tell him that, thank you kindly.” Tosh snorted in merriment. “Tell him what you’re doing and that I’ll ring him tonight. Hate to have him call in the middle of a witch hunt.”

“Will do. Enjoy your nap. Be careful, Ianto. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with yet.”

I assured her I would be fine, and I was. I spent all night patrolling the bridge with the Rift Ringer and my weapon. Nary a witch, alien, or drunk did I see. Shuffling to the pub at sunrise, I ran smackdab into Dotty unlocking the front door. Not having anything to hide behind that was bigger than a potted flowerpot hanging from a hook by the door, I pasted on my most pleasant smile.

“Look at you catting around all night,” she said as we made our way inside, the lure of my bed strong. “Been out looking for love in all the wrong places?”

“No, actually, I was keeping an eye on the Old Wye Bridge for a witch appearance, but she never showed.” The narrow steps called to me. As soon as the words tumbled out I realized I’d let the cat out of the bag in a rather large way. “I’m doing research for my master’s class in paranormal activity in modern Wales at Cardiff University.”

She was quite at a loss for a moment. Using the old college student excuse for odd nighttime habits had worked for me before. I was still young enough to pull it off.

“They teach classes about witches and ghosts at uni?”

“Oh yes, there’s a whole curriculum dedicated to supernatural study. Quite fascinating.”

“Well who knew? But, if it’s information about the Wye witches you’re so keen on, why not come with me to our weekly séance and calling to the spirits session. There’ll be wine and grass and a pretty lass.” She batted her lashes. “And possibly some news about the entity that you seek.”

“Oh, that’s quite kind but I can’t impose on you for information. I have to gather all of my findings first hand,” I lied. I had an aversion to letting her paw me for several hours to be frank but being a Welshman I was far too polite to say so to her face. “I suppose I’ll turn in then.”

I waved a hand at the stairs.

“Right well, have a good sleep. I can bring you some lunch if you want?”

“Ah, thank you, but I’ll be meeting up with an associate for an early dinner in Caldicot.” I gave her my most charming smile. She frowned. “Right well, off for my bed.” I ran upstairs, rushed into my room, shut the door and locked it.

“That is a persistent woman,” I sighed to my stuffy room. Another shower, a call to Jack, and then I fell into my bed, nude, and slept for several hours. When I woke it was well past four in the afternoon. The bedding was damp with sweat. God this heat was bloody unbearable. I made a vow to myself that I’d have an air conditioning unit in my flat before next summer arrived.

Stomach grumbling, I nonetheless piddled about in my room until after seven, just to ensure Dotty’s shift was over and she’d gone. Clad in jeans, a sleeveless summer shirt, and sneakers, I crept down the stairs, relief flooding over me to see a portly gent behind the bar.

He was no talker, but that suited. I ordered a pint and a pie – damn my weakness for the things – and made my way to the small dining room. There were four tables, a hutch, and various old farming implements hanging on the wall. I chose a table by the window to enjoy the air and the view of Chepstow Castle. My pint arrived quickly as did my flatware. I sipped the dark ale and paged through a digital book on my phone as my pie baked. I’d downloaded a copy of a book filled with the history of Welsh witches before leaving Cardiff. This one was quite well-written and delved into such notables as the Llanddona witches then dipped its literary toes into Welsh druidism.

I dallied over my ale and pie until dusk, reading and plotting my night. The air had lost some of its humidity as night had settled, and the back of my shirt barely stuck to my skin. Gun tucked into the back of my jeans, cell phone and Rift Reader in my pocket, I ambled down the street, nodding at anyone I may pass.

The light breeze coming over the bridge was delightful. Perhaps the weather was going to cool off. One could hope. I stepped onto the bridge, the stars overhead just coming into sight. I eased the Rift Reader out of my pocket and turned it on. Then I reached behind my back and nonchalantly slid my gun free. Palming the weapon, I held the Rift Reader in front of me, letting the device load or warm up or whatever a cell phone infused with alien technology did.

I paused, hair on my arms rising, when the whine of the Rift Reader picking up an alien signature filled the cooling night air. I spun in a circle, gun in hand but still lowered, as the device triangulated and locked onto the energy source.

“Again?” I asked myself as I saw that the big red blip was mid-bridge. Taking a step, the pulse moved to the far end of the bridge, and then streaked back to the Wales side. I followed the movement, safety off and gun now raised, back and forth, one side to the other, for several minutes.

“Ianto Jones! There you are!” I froze as Dotty’s greeting bounced off the water and trees. Then she appeared at the Wales side, looking quite lovely in a summer dress and bright white sandals. I quickly hid my gun and the beeping Rift Reader.

“Dotty, what are you doing here?” I shouted, closing the distance between her and I as quickly as possible. “It’s not safe out here.”

“Don’t be daft, it’s perfectly safe.” She gave me a come hither look then spun in a circle, her skirt flaring out to show off her long legs. Quite nice legs actually. Legs she might wish to keep so I needed to hustle her along before the alien/witch/entity scurrying around under the bridge popped up and grabbed her. “Lovely night for a lovers stroll.”

“Yes, quite right. Let’s stroll back to town.” I grabbed her upper arm and tugged her along in my wake.

“Do stop being so pushy!” She ripped her arm from me and spun around. “I’m going to wait in the middle for you. Come get me and give me a kiss!”

Off she ran like a hare. Stupid girl. I bolted after her, catching up to her right by the fancy ironwork that reads ANNO DOMINI 1816. She was all manner of flirtatious, batting long lashes, rolling up to her toes in some odd sort of school girl mannerism that put me right off.

“Time for my kiss,” she purred.

“Time for you to get back to town.”

“Remember what I said about being pushy. I don’t like grabby blokes.”

I stopped instantly, not wanting to appear boorish but also not wanting her to be flung into the river. With the energy signature rising rapidly until it was one continuous squeal I could only see one way to get the barmaid off the bridge.

“Fine, one kiss. Then I walk you home as a gentleman should.” Her firm expression melted, and her long lashes dropped to her dewy cheeks. She wet her plump lips. I leaned in, resigned to a short kiss on the cheek then a hurried jog off the Wye Bridge.

“Oh, yes, I do miss chivalry.” She whispered, her fingers carding into my hair. In a split second two pairs of icy cold hands replaced the soft, warm ones in my hair. The Rift Ringer screamed violently. A blast of fetid breath blew over my face. My brain couldn’t quite register what was happening quickly enough, but I did manage to get a hand up and into Dotty’s rapidly morphing face. I punched her in the nose, or what one could term a nose or a face, it was more of a undulating mask with the same long lashes that Dotty had batted so sweetly a few moments ago.

“Now that’s not chivalrous at all,” she chided, her voice ethereal and tinged with amusement. Cold fingers curled in my hair she moved so quickly and with such otherworldly force, I had no time to react. She pulled my head back then slammed it soundly into the rail. An explosion of pain detonated inside my head. Blood ran down my temple. The fingers tightened, lengthened, growing into black talons that dug into my face. I was lifted from the bridge and turned, ever so slowly, to gaze at the Witch of the Wye Bridge. Dotty’s elongated face swam into view. She smiled a smile filled with rotted teeth, long white tongues unfurled and caressed my face.

I pawed for my gun, got it free, and fired a round into her midsection. It sailed through her and hit a flowerbox. She wrested my gun away from me, threw it into the river, and then slammed me to the bridge. Her face continued to change. I now looked up into a bulbous round mass covered with eyes. It was akin to staring at a spider. I could hear high-pitched chittering from under the bridge. There were more than one of them?! Marvelous.

“You really should have been more accommodating, sweetmeat,” she cackled, her claws gouging into my skull and cheek. She grasped my chin with two of her other hands. I kicked out at her, but the blow had little effect.

With a four-inch claw resting a centimeter from my left eye, I didn’t dare wrench myself around too much or risk being blinded so I fell quite still, chest heaving, blood running into my eye.

“We could have done this with a kiss from a pretty barmaid,” the disturbing visage chastised, its speech now slurred as it tried to speak around the long, flat white appendages flailing about wildly inside its mouth. Viscous drool began to leak out between its cracked lips, the thick spittle dangling from her toothless mouth. “Open up, handsome.”

She jerked my jaw with enough strength to break it. That dangling ball of phlegm bounced off my upper lip. I fought with all the strength I possessed. Her grip on my head increased, the pain now flaring hot white. With her other two arms – or they could be legs who knew – she held my arms tightly, pinning them to my sides.

“Take me into you,” the hag kneeling on my chest barked, pulling my chin down and holding my mouth open until the ball of gel slid down over my tongue. I coughed and gagged and closed off my throat, pressing my lips closed. “Silly sweetmeat.”

She covered my nose with her slimy cold hand and waited. The last thing I recalled before I involuntarily sucked in a breath and the slippery ball of phlegm was Jack’s dissertation on the merits of spitting versus swallowing.

“Welcome to the coven,” she cooed, those milky worm-like tongues stroking my cheeks and eyes. Then, just like that, the creature was gone, up into the air, a streak of ebony that melded with the night. Several smaller forms followed her into the sky. I lay there on the bridge, alien witch spit in my stomach, head weeping copious amounts of blood as head wounds do, wondering if a writer’s group was worth all of this and if I would ever be able to swallow again. Likely not. Jack would be heartily disappointed.

 

To be continued…

 


	7. Quite the Unmannerly Witch

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Seven**

**Quite the Unmannerly Witch**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

Speaking of Jack, he rang then. The trill of my mobile playing his ring tone jarring in the now calm night. I sat up, pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket, pressed it to my head, and then took the call.

“So, here I am in our bed, alone, naked, thinking of you, and lo and behold what happens?” I did my best to remain blasé about things, so he wouldn’t pick up any distress in my voice and race to Chepstow. I could handle this despite outward appearances to the contrary. “Are you going to guess?”

I dabbed at the cut while contemplating if I should go try to vomit up the witch spittle. That truly had been quite unmannerly of her. “You sneezed?” I replied, pushing to my feet and wobbling about. Would two head wounds in a year make me daft? Well, one had to be a bit daft to be a Torchwood agent, but aside from that general daftness…

“Really? That’s the best comeback you have? I tell you I’m lying here in our bed, nude and thinking of you, and you think I sneezed?”

“Oh, sorry, no. That was silly of me,” I covered, handkerchief to my brow, searching for the Rift Ringer. “You’ve developed a raging erection and will now need to take care of it yourself?”

“Now you’re talking. Speaking of talking…”

Oh, good Lord. “As much as I’d love to engage in some phone sex, I’m standing in the middle of the Old Wye Bridge at the moment.” I pulled the hankie from my head, relieved to see that the bleeding was slowing. The Rift Ringer lay pulsing a few feet away, silent as the dawn, blue lights rolling steadily.

“That sucks,” he sighed dramatically. “How goes the witch hunt?”

I slowly bent over to pick up Tosh’s prototype. “You know how these things go,” I replied then softly belched. Ugh. The burp tasted like leeks and witch.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Witch tales generally tend to be mainly old wives tales although there was this one time back in ’64 when several Olpadi’s tried to wiggle through the Rift in the guise of earthly witches. Seemed they’d been searching for a planet to colonize and somehow stumbled on some subspace emissions of that old TV show, _Bewitched_. Nasty things Olpadi’s all grabby and juicy, they’re big spitters and—”

“Olpadi’s?” I asked. “Why have I never heard of them before?”

“Well, probably because they never all made it through the Rift. We figured out a way to block them when they attempted to come through. Just had to deal with one who used some sort of vaxtron energy currents to seemingly fly when in reality it was merely cruising along on a harmonic wave, more or less. Also, I know you _think_ you know everything about Torchwood, but in all honesty—”

“I _do_ know everything about Torchwood,” I was quick to point out. “Just not this one thing.” I dabbed at my brow again. “Was any evidence ever entered into the archives?”

“No, because the main scouting party never came through to leave evidence. I’m sure I mentioned them somewhere along the way in my personal files. Are we sure we can’t whisper naughty words to each other?”

“Ah!” I shouted then winced. A damn headache was on the horizon. “If you mentioned them in your personal files, which I do not have access to, then they’re not in the archival system and my knowledge of all things Torchwood remains intact.”

“Wow, you take that far too seriously. Why don’t we talk about something else? Like the fact that I have a handful of hard cock and no Ianto to—”

I made my way to the railing to study the castle resting so high above the river. “What does one look like?”

“A cock? Seems to me you’d have a pretty good idea of—”

“No, Jack, focus here. An Olpadi. What does an Olpadi look like?” The man tended to get rather stuck on one point at times, especially when that point involved his prick.

Some rustling took place on the other end. “Okay, I’ve now dropped my cock and am looking for my socks. Tell me that you’ve spotted an Olpadi and I’ll be there within the hour.”

Shit. I stared at Chepstow Castle as I wrestled with my next step. Ego was telling me to push on by myself to show the others that I was a capable field agent and not just an office boy promoted beyond his measure. Reason told me to bring Jack in on this as I was facing not one possible alien, but several. I had also lost my weapon and had ingested Olpadi spittle which may compromise me in unknown ways. Also, Jack had experience with these creatures where as I had none. Still though, a man did have his pride…

“I think I’ve seen at least eight,” I finally replied.

“I’ll be there within the hour.”

“No, I can handle this.” I braced for a battle with the boss.

“Ianto, you have no clue how to deal with them, I do.”

And so it began. He was probably pulling on his greatcoat as we spoke.

“I would if you’d send me the information you have on them that’s stored in your private files.”

“Have you been injured?”

I removed the wet hanky from my brow. “A slight scratch.” I opted out of telling him about the swallowing spit aspect for a multitude of reasons. “Looks worse than it is. Jack, I’ve got this all under control. I just need the info on them that you have. You’re already short-staffed. If you call Gwen home early she’ll be furious. I can handle this.”

“Do you have your phone?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go to the Hub and access my files there. I’m giving you free access to everything that I’ve kept to myself for…well, for a very long time.”

He was rustling around as he dressed. “Thank you. I won’t snoop about in anything but the Olpadi file, you have my word.”

“I never thought you would.”

Ah well, that was nice to hear. “Thank you for that. So, any chance you’ve got some ordnance stashed in the boot of your car, which is still pristine and unharmed.” Wish I could say the same for myself.

“Enough to make my favorite coffee boy all sorts of squirmy.”

 

***

He wasn’t lying. Under the spare tire, tucked into a small nook, were several handguns, boxes of ammo, and a flamethrower. Yes, a flamethrower. Jack had a fondness for them. This one would need to be assembled, so I left it but did take a new handgun and a box of shells. I also took the miniature CAT scan device and the first aid kit. Then, upon further reflection, I grabbed a small spool of copper wire, a tiny lockpick kit, and one of our standard issue stun guns.

I snuck into the hotel on high alert, but Dotty was not behind the bar. Obviously, now that I thought on it. She’d rather outed herself to me hadn’t she? An angry looking bloke with a wide nose glanced at me when I walked in. He could be the owner perhaps, coming in to cover for his missing barkeep. I hustled up the stairs to avoid any questioning about my bloody shirt and face that he may have.

Once in my room I peeled off my ruined clothes, frowning at the blood soaked into my Stereophonics t-shirt. I ran the CAT scan and Rift Ringer over myself and was relieved to see that there was no concussion or creepy crawling alien grub growing in my stomach. Oddly, or perhaps not, Tosh’s handy device showed alien DNA when I ran it over myself. Not really surprising, but the larger question was what kind of alien DNA was mutating my cellular structure? It was upsetting and maddening, so I buried the whole worry for a later vivisection.

I showered, tended to the gash on my head, and then sat on the edge of the bed in just a towel, to begin reading through the glut of information Jack had sent me. As promised, I opened only the file on the Olpadi although he had hundreds of files, all neatly alphabetized.

I spread myself out on the bed, sipped on some water, and read up on the Olpadi. I was pleased to see that what I had been contemplating had, in fact, been done by Jack and his team back in the early sixties, only to a much larger degree as they had the Rift manipulator whereas I had a spool of copper wire, a stun gun, and the Rift Ringer. I glanced out the window at the castle. Dawn was creeping up on the city, so my plan would have to wait until tomorrow night. If I hadn’t been turned into an alien witch thing by then, of course.

 

To be continued…

 


	8. Once Upon a Moonless Midnight

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Eight**

**Once Upon a Moonless Midnight**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

This sleeping all day routine was fudging up my circadian rhythm. Coming awake slowly, I blinked, ran my teeth over my tongue, and then sat bolt upright in bed and patted myself down. All human.

“Thank God,” I sighed, lifting my towel to check that everything was as it had been. Relief flooded through me to see that what lay under the towel was the same as it had been when I’d nodded off. The room was stuffy and close. I moved around dully, using the bathroom and washing up, then coming back out to dress. I checked my phone, found several messages from Jack and two from my sister. I replied to all of those with short texts then ordered in some room service. I had a steak and ale pie sent up with some coffee instead of a draft. I had about four hours until it would be dark enough to set up inside the great hall at Chepstow Castle. That gave me time to eat, reprogram the Rift Reader, and find a way into the castle that wouldn’t arouse local suspicion. Scaling the walls sounded daring but rather foolhardy.

It looked like I’d be doing some breaking and entering, using the gift shop as my entry point. If the police showed up, I’d wave my Torchwood badge about, look pompous, and stalk past them as Jack normally does.

“It works for him, so it should for me as well,” I said then snickered at how delusional I was being.

Dinner arrived within fifteen minutes, a chubby ginger woman with a weak chin delivering the meal. I paid her and tipped her, but she never once smiled. Perhaps the entire staff was angry with Dotty leaving them high and dry. If my plan worked, Dotty and her little witchy minions would be leaving Earth high and dry, hopefully for another fifty years or longer. Given how much weaker my energy field would be, perhaps wishing for anything over a ten second Rift reversal would be cocky on my behalf. But ten seconds would work. It would seal this crack in the rift and it would stop Dotty from building her…coven? Invasion force? Scouting party? Whatever.

I ate and worked on the Rift Ringer, fiddling with the internal wiring, and switching polarities until it would gather the energy from the readings it took and, instead of simply showing them as a red dot, it would feed it into the small little corral I was going to set up. The Rift would open, Dotty and her friends would step out, I’d hit the send button, and the Rift Reader would suck up as much energy as it could read then direct it back at the opening, taking the Olpadi with it. Or in theory anyway. I was no Tosh. If things went south I had the stun gun and my weapon. One small miscalculation or wrong bit of rewiring and I could possibly end up sending the entire castle back into the Rift. Imagine trying to explain _that_ to the Queen. Hopefully I could avoid that scenario.

With an hour until dusk, I gathered up my goodies, stuffed them into a small courtesy bag the hotel had left on the nightstand, and descended the stairs clad all in black. Avoiding eye contact, I slipped outside then drove to the nearest hardware store to purchase two dozen fiberglass rods and a hammer. Sheep farmers used the rods for their electric fencing, so they would serve my purpose well. Once back at the hotel parking lot, I parked and waited, roof down, sipping on a small frozen treat.

“Far too hot in the hotel room,” I told several people walking past. I wasn’t fond of the pineapple-banana flavored slushy, but it had served its purpose well. Night fell and with it, thick clouds rolled into the area. The taste of rain was on the air. The stars and moon were hidden, which made my upcoming lockpicking excursion that much easier. When the parking lot was empty, I climbed out of the convertible and then tied a black bandana over the lower half of my face. With the black t-shirt and matching jeans, I was as ready to break into a historical landmark as I would ever be.

The lights that illuminated the massive keep were problematic, but I crawled where needed, and shimmied along with my back flat to the old stones in other places. Soon I was inside the main gate, the gift shop to my right. I hurried up the few stairs, dropped to one knee, and held my phone over the alarm system. Glancing back over my shoulder, I waited for the cell to read and analyze the system and then disable it. A small ping told me that no alarms would now ring out to the police. Tucking my phone back into my bag, I jostled the bag on my back to the side a bit to get the fiberglass rods out of my face.

The next step was picking the lock. This was a skillset that I’d picked up along the way by watching Gwen and doing research. She was incredibly good at opening locked doors with just a hairpin or a bit of wire. Jack used his wrist strap and Tosh always used her gizmos. Owen, well Owen generally either kicked the door in or shot the lock. I was looking for a more refined way to gain entry.

The lock tumbled open with ease. Inside the gift shop it was cool and dark. I crept past bins of pens, notepads, and small finger puppets of knights or Welsh wizards. Past the cash register I went and then out a side door that led into the castle grounds. No sooner did I step outside and the lights all went out. After a moment of blinking to readjust my eyes, I pulled a small torch out of my bag and raced to the great hall, Rift Ringer purring in my pocket. On a moonless night the massive hall was even more imposing, and quite a bit more eerie.

I pulled out my stopwatch and flipped it open.

“Two hours and thirty-two minutes,” I murmured to the pigeons nested in every nook and cranny.

Right. Time to get to it. I snapped my watch shut and dropped my bag on the gently sloped ground, placed the mini Maglite between my teeth, and emptied the contents of the bag with a sharp shake. I’d been banking on the residual light from the spotlights but since it appeared that Chepstow was in the middle of a blackout, the thin beam from my torch would have to suffice. Using the Rift Readers readouts that I’d downloaded to my phone, I marked off small increments of space around the area where the Rift had snapped open. Pounding the stakes into the ground with a small hammer ate up some time, as did wiring the fiberglass posts securely with copper wire. Silver wire would have been better but beggars and choosers. Sweat ran down my brow, burning when it seeped under the bandage on my forehead.

When the thirty-foot corral was completed I stood up and stretched. My knees were grateful. Giving the pen a slow once-over with the beam of my torch, I then walked around it, tugging on wire or straightening a rod until I was satisfied with my work. Now, the tricky part would take place. Sliding the Rift Reader out of my pocket, I went back to a knee, torch between my teeth again, and began wiring the humming device into the wire that connected the posts. According to my research, normal electric fencing coverts battery power into a strong “pulse” that the animal touches thus completing the circuit. I wasn’t after a pulse of power here, I wanted a steady flow of reversed Rift energy.

My neck was stiff and my left knee angry at the rocks jabbing into it when I completed the delicate task of wiring alien tech into a hob-nobble electric fence. If Tosh ever knew what I had used her prototype for she’d not let me borrow a pen in the future. But, necessity was the mother of invention and all that…

Pushing to my feet, I grimaced at the ache in my knee. Then, carefully, I laid the Rift Reader on the ground beside my nearly empty bag. There was no way to know for certain if my plan would work or not until the Rift fissure snapped closed. Hopefully the Olpadi wouldn’t break free of the circle of energy and go haring off into the cloudy night.

I sat down, sipping on a bottle of water, stopwatch on my lap, and waited for midnight. The castle seemed particularly creepy shrouded in blackness. My mind leaped from item to item, thought to thought, as time ticked slowly forward. The first sign of things stirring in the night was the soft blip of the Rift Reader detecting a fluctuation in Rift energy. I sat up, shook off the lethargy, and got to my feet, gun out and fully loaded. Not that shooting them had done much in the past but holding the weapon made me feel safer.

The air began to change, charge, sparkle even a bit as the split rift began to appear. A scarlet gash in time flashed into existence. The Rift Reader whined, sucking long tendrils of energy into it then feeding the power into the copper wire. The wire began to glow ruby red. I smiled to see that. Then, Dotty wiggled free of the gap. She was pure Olpadi as she wobbled through to this side on her four gangly appendages.

She saw me standing on the outside of the corral and shock overtook her gruesome face.

“You should be evolving. How are you not one of us?” she asked, her voice cold and ancient as the walls that hid us.

“Not a clue, just lucky I suppose. As a duly licensed agent of Torchwood in duty to the crown, I’m asking you to step back through the gap and return to your own time and dimension. If you fail to do as asked, you will be forcibly sent back which may result in suffering and even death. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” My gun rested on my wrist, steady and sure, pointed at her head. I could hear murmurings from the fracture. The others she had turned trying to slip through no doubt.

“How are you not one of us?” Dotty enquired yet again.

“Unique genetics. Now please step back through the gap peacefully or I’ll be forced to hurl you back.”

I waved my gun at her in an attempt to get her moving. Miserable thing opted to step closer. It was quite like looking into the face of some ghastly child of Cthulhu. I fired off a round. It hit the stone wall and sent dust and debris flying. A raspy sort of sound came out of Dotty’s mouth, as did several undulating lengths of … well, not a clue what they were. Tapeworms was the only thing my addled brain could compare them to. They writhed and oozed and were just as disgusting as they’d been previously. Keeping my gun aimed at Dotty and her mouthful of writhing worm tongues, I shuffled my foot up about six inches until the tip of my sneaker rested against the ‘Send’ button of the Rift Reader.

“This is your last chance, Olpadi leader Dotty. Return to your realm or suffer the wrath of Torchwood!” I shouted at the top of my lungs to be heard over the snarling of several aliens trying to wriggle out of a time and space gash.

Dotty screamed back, an ear-piercing sort of wail that made my head ache. Then she lunged and hit the copper wire. The surge of gathered Rift energy hurled her back into her cronies. I stepped down on the Rift Reader, shorting it out and sending all the energy of that breach of time back into the gap. The breach shuddered and expanded, snapping and hurling out violent red sparks, and then, it began to curl in on itself, the edges warping inward. There was a God-awful scream from the Olpadi that were caught in the maelstrom. The fissure ripped them back inside, sucking alien as well as small rocks and my corral into the vortex. I planted my feet, lowered my gun, and grabbed at the nearest wall, my fingertips digging into the stonework to find a hold.

With a pop that shook the ground, the split in the rift closed. Dirt and dust settled on my shoulders. The fine hairs on my neck and forearms stood straight up. I studied the darkness intently, unable to see properly for several long seconds until, as if by magic, the spotlights outside the castle flared back to life, illuminating the towers and ramparts. And there, standing on the wall overlooking the great hall, was Jack, coat flowing around him as a rainy wind blew into the area.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” I bellowed, small drops of rain hitting me in the face. He disappeared then reappeared with a soft disturbance of electrons beside me. Even with the dust particles and rain on the wind, I could pick up those pheromones of his.

“By the power of Torchwood?” He reached up to flick some hair away from the bandage on my forehead.

“It sounded better in my mind. Why are you here? Did we _not_ have a conversation about—”

“Relax. I just took a little drive because I was bored and before I knew it, here I was in Chepstow.” He lowered his hand. “Is that head wound serious?”

“No, just a scratch. Please tell me you didn’t interfere in my assignment in any way.”

He crossed his heart as the rain began to fall a bit harder. “I did not interfere in any way. I may have turned off the exterior lights with my handy-dandy wrist strap, but other than that it was all you. You did very well. The seal, ingeniously closed, is tight.”

I inhaled softly. The rain soaking into my shirt and hair was cooling and very welcome. “I should send you home right off.”

He turned to me, the darkness of the keep now lifted. The muted lights did amazing things for him and that matinee idol smile of his.

“You should but you probably won’t.” His hair was getting wet and clinging to his thick skull.

“No, probably not.” I bent down to pick up the Rift Reader which was smoking and horribly charred. “Toshiko will string me up.”

“More than likely.” He lifted his face up to the rain clouds for a moment and then looked at me. “You’re a fine field agent, Ianto. I’m not sure I say that to you often enough. I know I tell you that I want you, and that I care about you, but I don’t commend your professionalism enough outside of coffee making and tidy achieve record keeping.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. It’s uhm, well, it’s lovely to hear praise from the boss.” I dropped the Rift Reader into my bag then slid the straps over my left shoulder. “Shall we get out of the rain then?”

“I was hoping you’d ask. You did leave the roof up on the Aston Martin, right?”

The skies opened up, dousing us with warm summer rain. I bit down on my lower lip as the memory of me sitting in his car sucking on that nasty frozen drink popped up. The roof was most assuredly _not_ up.

“Ianto?”

“Shall we talk about my professionalism a bit more?”

I never did hear his reply, the downpour drowned it out. Probably for the best.

 

To be concluded…


	9. Green in the Morning

**The Witching Hour (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Nine**

**Green in the Morning**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

A shudder ran over me and I rolled to the side to escape the cool, damp air roaring in the window. A small twinge of intimate muscles subtly reminded me that Jack had joined me in this big, lovely bed last night. He’d raved about the mattress and then plowed me face first into it.

 Obviously he had risen before me, as usual. The bathroom light was on and the soft sound of water running in the sink floated out to me along with Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together”. The smell of soap tickled my nose, so I tossed the covers aside and padded to the window. It was still raining. This would help the water table a bit, but I feared all the lawns in Wales were beyond salvation. I peeked at Jack’s car before shutting the window. He’d been quite putout with me last night, and rightfully so. I _had_ gotten rather swept up in the mission. I had offered to pay for any water damage to the interior, but he’d taken his payment out of my ass. Quite literally. That had been the most enjoyable reparation I’d ever made.

Pattering to the bath, I tugged the door open slowly and drank in the sight of Jack, naked, skin still pink from a hot shower, standing in front of the mirror wiping the last bits of shaving cream from his neck with a white hand towel. His gaze flickered to me and he smiled. God, that smile. It still made me giddy after all my time with him. I prayed it always would.

“Morning,” he said as his eyes traveled over me. “You’ve got goosebumps.”

“Mm, yes, someone had the window open even though the temperature has dropped into the frost zone.” I stepped into the bath, coming up behind him to press a kiss to the back of his neck. His big body was toasty warm, so I leaned into it, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Do you Welsh not have any blood in your bodies to keep you warm?”

“Nope, not a drop. Bloodless turtles we are, sunning ourselves on slick rocks along every duck pond you’ll pass.”

“And here I thought those were just people feeding the ducks.” He reached for the small tube of hair gel we’d had to run to Tesco to buy before we could settle in for the night. I grabbed the bright purple tube before he could. He gave me an over-the-shoulder look full of quirky eyebrow and attitude.

“Sit down. Let me do this for you.” He did as asked, spreading a towel over the toilet then dropping his ass to it. I flipped the lid and squeezed a dollop of gel into my hand then rubbed my palms together. As soon as I stepped between his legs, his hands settled on my hips. “You can erase that skeptical look. I’ve seen you do this a thousand times. Just relax.”

“Remember it’s got to be rakish yet playfully natural.”

“Yes, of course.” I shoved my hands into his damp hair. His eyes drifted shut as I began massaging the gel into his hair. “So, was there anything in any other file about the Olpadi, or how they reproduce?”

“Everything we knew about them was in my file. It wasn’t much, I’m sorry, but we stopped them dead last time and never got any major insight on them. This time they managed to grab some humans and begin converting them, the bastards.”

“I may never swallow again.” I worked the gel in then began making the style look natural.

“Don’t even joke about such things.” He leaned up, kissed my chest, and then sat back. “All kidding aside, we’ll have Owen and Martha go over you with a fine-tooth comb when we’re back at the Hub.”

We’d talked quite a bit last night in between rounds of sex. He now knew all that I knew about the Olpadi, how they seemed to breed, and how they were quite adept at assuming human form. I’d never have known about Dotty had she not taken a fancy to me. There were still a few things left for me to talk over with him though. And now seemed a perfect time to do so as he was sated, showered, shaved, and sanguine. His stunning blue eyes were lazy with relaxation.

“So, while I have you here,” I opened with, pulling on a few stubborn strands that wished to stand up, “there’s a few things that I need to discuss with you.”

“Discuss away. Use more gel on those. They like to think they’re going to be a cowlick.” His grip on my hips was loose, steady, but loose.

“I took an unexpected dip into the Wye and discovered that I no longer have the ability to faff about underwater for long periods of time.”

I tugged on the cowlick then pressed it down. The nonchalant ease of the moment began to shift. He gazed up at me, still looking rather mellow, but his hooded eyes were now sharp and inquisitive.

“Really?”

“Mm, yes.” I applied more gel to the unruly spring of hair then forced it into place. This time it stayed. “That was before I ingested Olpadi saliva. Hopefully it was just my body ridding itself of the slug genetic code.” I knew that was idiotic as soon as I’d said it. You didn’t slough off DNA like you did dead skin, unless you were some sort of alien who…oh hell. It was beyond insane. I worked on his hair with a bit more gusto. “There’s that. I thought you should know. Also, the reason I jumped on this assignment so quickly is that there’s a writer group here that meets on Friday nights, a science fiction group, and I’d like to start attending. I know that I may be on-duty Friday nights, and of course should my job demand it, I would—”

“Ianto, whoa, just slow down.” He grabbed my wrists, lowering my hands from his hair. Our gazes met. “Okay, so this whole rush to Chepstow was to attend a writer’s group?”

I nodded. “Partly yes, a new one. Tomorrow night. Or is it tonight? I’ve lost track of the days.”

“Not important right now. The important thing is that you're writing? Science fiction? When did this start?” He stood up, his fingers still holding my wrists. The hair gel was drying into a gummy mess on my hands.

“About a month ago, although I’d been rolling it around inside my head since that time we—”

“Were lost in our dreams, Yeah, I remember that all too well.” His grip tightened just a bit. His mouth settled into a soft frown. I understood that sadness. I felt it as well, daily. That life had been perfect. But it wasn’t reality, it was our dreams, the fantasies that our minds had created in slumber. “I recall you were quite famous for your Sci-Fi books in that dream.”

“Ah yes, but those were dreams. I highly doubt that anything I write in reality will sell more than a few copies and those—”

He silenced me with a kiss. “Don’t talk down about yourself or your talent. I’m glad you’re trying out a new creative outlet. The thing I don’t understand is why you felt the need to hide it from me? I thought…well, I thought something all together different was going on.”

“Such as?” I leaned into him, chasing his mouth for another kiss as the weight of keeping all this inside was lifting leaving me feeling airy and clingy. He tasted my lips again, quickly, and then pulled back.

“I thought that you were seeing someone else. Crazy huh?” He scoffed at himself.

My eyes flared. “Oh God, Jack, no I would never – who could ever compare – I love you. Only you.” This time I got grabby, shaking his hands from my wrists I cupped his face and licked into his mouth, ravenously needy and desperate to show him how much he was to me. “Only you,” I whispered when the kiss broke. His arms slid around me, and he cinched me to him.

“Silly of me, huh?” He murmured, his arms like a band holding me in place. Not that I wished to move. “Like anyone could ever hope to be as dashing as me in your eyes?”

I smiled inwardly at his bluster. Amazing man, Jack Harkness. He’s an infuriating and intriguing blend of pomposity, sexual attraction, heroism, ribald humor, and wit with just a dash – barely a sprinkle mind you – of insecurity. One rarely sees it, that flicker of self-doubt. Only when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable and that really only happens in the realm of personal relationships. See, he’s quite sure of his ability to please a lover in bed or save the world. It’s his ability to love someone and not lose them that shakes him to the core. He’s quite the conundrum at times but I’m relatively sure that I’ve got all the pieces of Jack Harkness worked out. Or at least I’ve unraveled a goodly bit of the mystery the man cloaks himself in.

“There’s no one more dashing or boastful than you.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like you’re going to burst into that song about Gaston?”

That pulled a laugh from me. He smothered it with his mouth, pressing closer, going deeper, his tongue rolling with mine until I was having trouble recalling where we were and what we were supposed to be doing.

“Ianto, don’t ever feel that you have to hide any part of yourself from me. I’m in this for the long haul, and that means all your failures as well as your successes.” His body was hard and firm, a solid wall that I knew, deep down, would support me.

“I know that. I do. I should have trusted you not to look down on this idea. It might not pan out, but I do wish to pursue it.” He cupped my chin, tipping my head up.

“Always reach for the stars,” he whispered, kissed my Adams apple, and snuggled against me, his arms holding me close. “Make sure you write the best book you can. I get dibs on being the first to read it.”

Ah gods, his lips on my throat felt wonderful. My body was revving up, anxious to lure him back to bed for another round. We were well on our way when his phone rang. I cussed under my breath. He chuckled, nipped my throat, and then off he went, dick bouncing, to see who was calling and why. If that was Owen…

“Owen, morning. I’m late? Really? Are you sure?” Bloody Owen. I suspected as much. I joined Jack by the bed. He’d already wiggled into his trousers, the braces dangling, his dirty briefs lying on the floor where he’d dropped them last night. Jack winked. I spun around and took a fast shower. We’d be rolling out soon.

“Are you mad?” Jack asked when I was dressing. I shook my head. “You know you’re free to stay here until tomorrow, right?”

I blinked dully. “But Owen called and…” I waved a hand at the door.

“Well yes, he called for me. You’re officially here until Friday evening late. So, take a day off, write, eat pies, don’t try to drown yourself, and attend your writer’s group tomorrow night.”

He slid an arm into his coat then shucked his shoulders to heave the coat onto his back. I walked over, half-dressed, to smooth the epaulets.

“I can just drive back,” I said, pressing the collar down then running my hands over the back to work out the wrinkles that had begun to set it. “You smell of wet wool.”

“Yeah, she got a little damp last night,” he replied, turning around while tightening his wrist strap. “Stay. Be creative. Rest.” His gaze darted to the gash on my forehead. “Just be home by midnight Friday.”

“Thank you.”

“Consider it a commendation for a job well done.”

“Let me walk you down to the SUV,” I said, grabbing any old shirt from the dresser drawer.

“The SUV?” He stared at me blankly.

“Yes, the SUV. It must be parked nearby. You said you’d been out for a drive and…” He began to look quite shifty. “You didn’t drive, did you? You popped here using your vortex manipulator, didn’t you?”

“Did I say I had driven down? I meant to say that I had been _thinking_ of driving down but then realized that someone might need the SUV, so I just teleported a little bit.” He smiled that winning smile. The one that drove all the women mad with want. Hell, the men too.

“ _Jack_ …”

“Right, well, better go see what Owen needs help with. Enjoy your day off writing about a dashing captain of an airship who saves the world from horrific creatures.”

He stole a fast kiss and then disappeared in a flash of gold energy, the sparks lingering a second after he’d gone.

That man. One had to be on their toes with him. Good thing I was up to the task.

 

 

The End

 

**Ahh, that was fun! It’s FAB to be back in the Torchwood world for a wee bit each week!**

**I’ll be taking the rest of November off so I can participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I have two novellas to try to get done in 30 days. *faints***

**When December rolls around we’ll have a short holiday story, three or so issues, titled “Four Lords a Leaping” which is going to be some fun holiday Janto fluff.**

**As always, thank you _so_ much for reading along.**

**Yours in fiction—**

**Feral**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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